


Reeds

by ambiguously



Category: Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Family, Gen, Jedi, Probably going to be jossed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2019-02-25 18:05:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13218075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ambiguously/pseuds/ambiguously
Summary: When Mira was eleven years old, two Jedi came to her door.





	Reeds

Mira was eleven years old when the brown robes came. She'd guessed one of the neighbors had sent word after what had happened. "You're not in trouble," Papa had said to her, over and over, petting her dark hair, both pride and worry crinkling his eyes. "Everyone is pleased that no one was hurt."

Dozens of bystanders had run in terror as the landspeeder had careened out of control in the midst of the marketplace, and Mira had shoved out her hand as if to push it away. The 'speeder had stopped, skidding to a halt in midair before her. The 'speeder's malfunctioning engine was to blame for nearly killing several people, but Mira had been to thank for stopping it. That was three days ago, and now two Jedi were here to speak with her parents.

"Go play," Papa told her, shooing her away from the setwan where they greeted visitors into the riad at the center of their house. Today her garden bloomed in the slanting afternoon sun. Grandpapa had been wealthy back when he'd first bought this house, and the sky looked down upon a fresh water well, which Mira often played beside. What her parents didn't know, or didn't mind knowing, was that the well's design meant words spoken inside the corridors of the house often echoed to her from the rounded, wet stones.

"You're here to take our daughter," Papa said as soon as she was out of sight. This was terribly rude of him. He ought to offer them refreshments. Mira understood how scared he must be to forget his manners.

"No," said the male Jedi, a Bothan. "We've come to talk with her, and with you."

"We don't steal children," said his companion, a human woman.

"I've heard otherwise," said Papa, but his voice sounded less tense. "Would you like some water? You have come a long way."

Mira relaxed. This was better. She hurried to the kitchen, where the water was already chilled, and brought three brightly-colored cups on a tray just as Papa was leaving the room to fetch them himself.

"Thank you, Mira," he said, his eyes sparkling at her. He knew she'd been listening. He sighed. "Come meet our visitors."

Mira set down the tray before the newcomers and folded her hands. They thanked her for the water, watching her with an air of strange kindness. "It's nice to meet you," said the Bothan man.

"Welcome to our home," Mira said, with as much formality as she could. These were Jedi! Heroes of a thousand stories, villains of hundreds more! The galaxy's peacekeeping guardians, some said, and other said they were child-snatchers. They could kill a little girl just by staring at her, warned the teachers at school when the class began to get rowdy at the end of lessons.

The woman said, "We heard about what you did. You saved dozens of people. Do you remember how?"

"It wasn't dozens," Mira said. "The landspeeder would have crashed into Mr. Koma's stall. I didn't want it to."

"So you made it stop."

"Yes."

The man said, "This isn't the first time you've done something special, is it? You know things when you shouldn't know them. You're quicker on your feet than most girls your age."

Papa placed a warm hand on her shoulder. "That doesn't mean anything. She's special because she's our daughter, not because she has any powers."

The woman nodded at him. "Of course. We wouldn't suggest otherwise." But her eyes flickered to meet Mira's, and suddenly Mira could feel the oddest sensation behind her eyes, as if someone was speaking inside the well. _"Don't be alarmed,"_ the woman's voice said to her. _"I promise I will not harm you. But you can hear me, can't you?"_

Mira closed her eyes and turned her head away.

The woman said, "Mira is of course far too old for us to consider her as a candidate for Jedi training."

Her eyes snapped open, and anger piqued her. The weight of her father's hand told her to hold her tongue.

"Yes, and I expect you will do great things as you grow. The Force has a destiny in mind for everyone."

"But you don't want me to be a Jedi?" Now that they had said plainly they hadn't come to take her away, Mira found she was disappointed. She'd always had these abilities, always known she was a little different. She'd spent the last three days daydreaming about the Jedi coming for her, training her in her gifts, then everyone she knew standing in awe as she saved the galaxy with her lightsaber in hand. 

"It's not about what we want," the Bothan said. "Most Jedi are orphans. The few who come from families are given over to the Order in early childhood before they can establish strong bonds with their parents." He stopped speaking, watching Mira, waiting for her to finish the thought.

She considered the reasoning. "The Jedi are meant to be their family instead."

"Yes," said the woman. "You love your father." She glanced at Papa. "Is there another parent?"

"Her mother is resting," Papa said. "I chose not to disturb her."

"When she is awake, we would like to meet her," said the Bothan.

"We should go," said the woman, standing. The Bothan followed. He was much younger than his friend, Mira realized. She was the leader, and he was her assistant or apprentice or something. "Thank you for your time."

Papa said, "Stay for supper, please. You have traveled a long way for nothing. We can offer you a meal."

The Bothan looked delighted. His friend relented. "We can stay. Thank you for your hospitality."

The tension of their arrival broken, Mira fell into an easier stance, offering to show them her little garden and her well. The woman, her name was Kyra, agreed to join her, while the Bothan sat with more familiarity with Papa, drinking his water and admiring their home.

"Not everyone grows flowers," Mira said, showing Kyra the explosion of colors she enjoyed here in the heart of her home. "Mama says we should put in more vegetables. We'll need the extra food to sell."

Everything was different now that the baby was here. Her brother was hale and healthy, and would survive to his naming day tomorrow, not like the two poor nameless infants that preceded Mira's birth. She was used to being the only child in her parents' love. Now she must learn to share everything, and there was little enough to go around. She'd listened at her well as her parents worried to each other. Grandpapa had left behind the beautiful house they had all once shared, and also many debts. Even without a second child, there would not be enough money to send her to school for another year, not unless Mama and Papa sold this house and moved into a shared home with another family. With the baby, that money would not stretch. The proverb taught that a baby born in the parents' autumn years was a gift of spring, and Mira tried to look upon her brother's arrival as a gift, but she was failing.

Mira wondered if Kyra could hear the sudden flurry of her thoughts. She listened attentively as Mira talked about her favorite flowers, the tiny ones with the astonishingly blue petals like the heart of the sky, and as she talked about her school friends, and as she talked about the stories she liked Mama to tell. It was very easy to talk to her, Mira noticed.

This was still part of the test.

Mira stopped her chattering, aware that she had been blathering like a six year old. "Why are you still here?" she asked suddenly.

"Your father invited us to stay."

"You didn't have to."

"Would you like me to leave?" Her question was mild, curious. Mira contemplated her answer.

"No. But I want to know what you're really here for."

Kyra smiled, the pride in her expression the same as it lived on Papa's face. "I wish we'd found you sooner, Mira. You would have made a good fit in the Temple. You have great insight."

Mira waited. If the Jedi could stand silently waiting for an answer, so could she.

Kyra said, "I have another test I would like to give you, with your parents' permission."

"You're not going to take me with you, no matter what the results are?"

"Would you want to go?"

They watched each other. Insects hummed among the flowers, tasting their nectar before flying off. Something about Kyra's face told her than she expected Mira's answer to be along the lines of any welcome escape from the dullness of her lonely life here on Lothal. But Mama and Papa would be sad.

"No. I want to stay here."

"No, we will not take you with us, regardless of the result." Under her words, Mira could almost hear other ones, worried words. Another child around her age had been accepted despite the rule, and Kyra disagreed with the decision.

"What is the test?"

"I would take a small drop of your blood and look at it. It wouldn't hurt you. It would only confirm what we already believe."

"What's that?"

"That you have some ability with the Force. That under other circumstances, you'd have made a fine Jedi. That you will grow to live an interesting life here with your family."

"Then why would you test me?"

Once released, the questions flew out of her. At school, her teachers often frowned once Mira found a string of "Whys" to unravel. She expected Kyra to close her down but instead she was greeted with amusement, and better, with respect.

"Because I would like to confirm what we already believe. I can add your name to a list we keep."

"Of not Jedi?"

"Yes. Many children remain with their families. Most are too old, but others stay with their families for many different reasons. Perhaps the family has long desired a daughter and they don't want to part with her. Perhaps their child is the only child they will bear, and they would not exchange the time with their offspring for anything. In some cases, the parents have heard terrible lies of what the Jedi do to children, and are afraid. We would never take a child without the parent's permission, but we record their names for later." She waited for Mira to once again finish her thought.

"Their children might be Jedi someday. You can come back."

Another smile filled with delighted pride. Mira wished for a moment that this woman could stay and be her teacher.

"They might, and we could."

Mira felt the vague itch between her shoulders she always did right before the baby began to wail. Sure enough, she heard cries from the direction of her parents' room a moment later. She sighed. "I have to go inside. Papa and I are fixing supper together."

"I will join you."

Kyra and her friend Jotinel might have been mysterious Jedi with magical powers, but they were also very good at slicing vegetables. "You are our guests," Papa said, but Jotinel shrugged and said it was their honor to help.

Mama came to the living area as they cooked, and greeted their guests. The way she and Papa looked at each other, Mira was sure he'd told her everything. Her parents often tried and failed to keep secrets from her, never from each other. Mira finished baking the crispy bread as Mama settled into her chair, settling the baby to nurse. She would leave the house for the first time tomorrow. Mira worried she wouldn't have the strength.

Mira helped Papa bring out the dishes one by one. Food was abundant tonight thanks to the neighbors who had brought meals to celebrate the birth, and they did have to eat up the last of it before it spoiled. Mama and Papa would not have dreamed of refusing a guest even without the extra, choosing the scant themselves over breaking hospitality, but it was lucky they didn't have to.

She took her usual seat on the long bench at the table, with Jotinel beside her and Kyra across. Mama stayed in her chair but Papa brought it close enough to the table for her to eat with them.

"This is very kind of you," Kyra said, while Jotinel was already mid-fork into his first bite.

"Yes, kind," he said, remembering his manners. But he grinned and winked at Mira, and she laughed.

"Guests are always welcome," Mama said. "Especially such esteemed guests. When my father was a young boy, two Jedi came to see his family. They still told the story when I was a girl."

"What was your father's name?" Kyra asked.

"Ezra Molga."

Kyra closed her eyes, considering. "He lived on Garel."

"Yes. How did you know that?"

"They keep records," Mira said, taking a big bite of her crispy bread, crunching it happily.

"We don't keep them updated. We didn't know the Molga family had moved, and I didn't know you changed your name."

"You should keep better records," Papa said. "On Lothal, women traditionally take their husband's name. Amra took my name. Mira will take her husband's name if she marries."

"Jedi don't marry," Mama said, her eyes on Kyra. "And they don't have children of their own."

"Not as a rule," Kyra said. "Instead, we form friendships, and we pass down what we have learned to our apprentices. Jotinel is learning from me. In time, he will take on a Padawan learner of his own, and teach them. My legacy will continue through him."

"What do you teach?" Mama asked. Mama was also always full of questions.

"Everything!" Jotinel said, his eyes lit up with delight. "Philosophy, literature, mathematics, engineering, poetry, art, how to find comfort in the Force, how to use the Force in combat, how to hold your breath for an hour!" His excitement seemed very unJedilike, but Mira enjoyed watching his expressions change.

Papa said, "But do you know your mother's name?"

Jotinel didn't crumple nor did he deflate. The enthusiasm he'd expressed moments before evaporated slowly, like a shallow dish of water set in the noonday sun. "I'm not old enough to know."

"Leah." Kyra had spoken. Mama and Papa turned to her. Mira placed a comforting hand on Jotinel's arm. He placed a kind hand over hers. Kyra said, "My mother's name is Leah. She lives on Mykapo. I was born there."

"You know her?" Mama asked, her face for once unreadable even for Mira.

"When our apprentices reach maturity and pass their final trials, they are given the opportunity to learn about their family. A rare few choose to leave the Order and go home. Others choose not to find out, or choose to ask later. I wanted to know. I've met my mother twice."

"She gave you up."

"She had her reasons. I don't disagree with them. My destiny was to become a Jedi."

Mama looked at Papa again. Mira could follow the thread of their thoughts sometimes, and sometimes she could see the manner of the things that would be. The last of the night insects creaked in the good soil of her little garden, and they would creak long after Mama and Papa sold this house and moved into a smaller home with one or two other families. The insects would come, and the well would drip, and the sun would shine down to brighten the dark heart of another girl's house.

"Kyra wants to test a drop of my blood for her records," Mira said to Mama.

"No," said Papa.

"If it will not hurt her," said Mama.

They continued to look at each other. Kyra motioned her hand at Jotinel, who hurried away from the table and stepped outside into the cool evening air. He returned with a small device, which Mira saw tucked under his dark robe.

Mama said, "Mira, do you want to be tested?"

"I want to know," she said, and she didn't flinch as Jotinel gave her arm a tiny poke. His machine made a noise, and Kyra came around to look. She nodded at the results.

"It's what I believed. You have great potential, Mira. I suspect there is nothing you won't be able to do if you put your mind to it."

Papa's face hadn't changed. He said, "We've known that for years. Mira can be anything she wants. She could be a doctor, or a poet."

"I want to be a gardener," she said, and Jotinel grinned at her again.

Kyra said, "Then you will make an excellent gardener." She looked at Mama. "What is the boy's name?"

Mira piped up, "He's not ten days old yet. Not until tomorrow." These Jedi really didn't know anything about anything.

"We're still discussing names," Mama said, although Mira was sure they would name him after Grandpapa. Mira carried the name of her mother's mother, who'd died the winter before Mira's birth. Names went on, telling new stories down through centuries.

"We can test him, or not. It's your choice."

Mama adjusted her hold on the baby, and unwrapped one small arm. He wasn't nearly as quiet as Mira had been. Papa remained silent for him, watching them.

Jotinel placed the sample into his instrument. "His count isn't as high as his sister's."

"What count?" asked Mama.

Kyra waved her hand as she inspected his results. "I could explain, but honestly, I have done this job for years and I am not sure I understand fully." She patted Jotinel's hand. "His count is high enough."

Papa said, "Now you want to steal our son away."

"We don't steal children," Kyra said, and Mira could feel the frustration rolling off her. "We offer them the chance to study the ways of the Force if they are suitable to learn. But only if you agree. We are not thieves. We are teachers." She bowed to Mama and Papa. "Thank you for your kindness in welcoming us into your home. We will leave now. I will add your children's names to our list."

"You should stay the night," Mama said. "It's dark, and we have plenty of room."

"We've imposed too long."

"No. You are welcome," she said. "Please stay until daybreak. Tomorrow is the baby's naming day, as soon as the sun rises."

Kyra seemed unsure, but Jotinel gave her a longing look. "We would not want to put you out," she said.

Papa said, "We have many comfortable couches. It is no imposition." Mira loved the long, cozy couches that lined the walls of the inward-facing rooms. With care, she could climb around the entire perimeter of the riad without stepping on the ground.

"Then we will stay. Please allow us to help clean up the meal, or I would be ashamed to stay."

"You can help!" Mira said, only too glad to shirk the duty of scrubbing the supper dishes.

After cleanup, and a story by the firepit from Papa, Mira's favorite tale about the girl who became a pirate in her spaceship and saved all the people, she was tucked into her bed with a kiss. Papa took the baby for a while, leaving Mira alone with Mama for the first time in nine long days.

"Dream good dreams," Mama said.

"Mama, would you be angry if I told you I want to be a Jedi?"

"No, but I would be sad if you went away from me. Fortunately for us both, you are staying here." Yet her eyes were filled with a deep unease as she doused Mira's light.

Mira remained under her blankets until she was sure the corridor was empty. Then she got out of her bed and crept down to her well in her garden. The cool night air made her shiver. The two Jedi sat in perfect silence in a deep, cool alcove, meditating rather than sleeping. Part of her longed to join them, to beg them to teach her just a little tonight, the only lessons she would ever have a chance to learn before they left in the morning.

Mama and Papa were talking in quiet voices that echoed eerily inside Mira's well.

"It is a good education," Mama said. "We don't have the money," she said some time after that.

"We will find the money," Papa said. "I don't trust them."

"I do, and Mira does, too."

Another long silence stretched, their whispers too soft even for the well to catch.

"She would have made a fine Jedi."

"I would rather she become a fine mother."

Mama said, "She is the only one who can decide that."

Mira fell asleep to the sound of their voices and the slow drip of the well water from deep under the ground. She opened her eyes to the pink-purple of first light in the high open air above her. Embarrassed to be caught out, she hurried back to her room and dressed. By the time she came back down, their guests were already awake and helping Father light the oven for breakfast.

Mama brought the baby to the table with her, but she was too nervous to eat, and the lines under her eyes said she hadn't slept. The baby had been keeping her up at nights. Mira had been listening, though. He'd slept through last night without a sound.

"Would you like to carry him up?" Mama asked, as soon as they finished eating. Mira nodded eagerly as she took her brother into her arms. Mama told their guests, "You can join us." Mira led the way up to the rooftop, where flat cushions were spread to catch the cool night breezes during the hottest parts of summer. The sun was red and fat on the horizon, coming up for another bright day.

Papa took the baby from Mira and kissed his dark hair, then presented him to Mama before taking Mira's hand. She walked to the sunrise side of the house, and showed Mira's brother the dawning sun. "Welcome," she said, and she whispered his name into his ear.

In a low voice, Papa said, "You cried when your mother told you your name. I don't think you liked it much."

The baby's face went red and grouchy, and he started to cry. Mira said, "I don't think he likes his, either."

Papa's smile was sad. He looked at Jotinel. "Did you keep the name your parents gave you?"

"Yes. I would like to meet them some day."

Papa nodded, mostly to himself, as Mama brought the baby back to the rest of them. She pressed her lips into his hair and against his little nose. Then she handed him to Kyra.

"You'll take care of him," Mama said, her voice catching. "And when he's old enough, you'll tell him about us."

"The first thing he will know about you is that you loved him enough to give him to our care."

Mira's heart felt like a stone. She'd known from the first moment she had seen the Jedi that her life would change. She'd known her brother's arrival had jeopardized the fragile balance of their lives, and that sending him away would be the best for him and for them. She was eleven, nearly twelve! She wasn't some little girl who didn't understand things. But her soul felt sick with sorrow.

"I want to go, too. He shouldn't be alone."

"He won't be," said Jotinel. "I always had other younglings to play with."

Kyra said, "Your parents would like you to remain here with them, and in your heart, you know you want to stay. You have another destiny to discover, and questions to ask only you can find answers for."

"It's not fair," she said, hating the little girl whine in her words. She was too old to stomp her foot and cry. It wasn't fair that her brother would go and she would stay. It wasn't fair that there wasn't enough money to prevent her parents from facing such a decision. The galaxy was not fair.

Mira pulled away from her father and stormed down the stairs, letting her feet bring her into her garden where she sat in a miserable ball curled beside her well, her sobbing covering the sounds of the never-ending drips from deep below the ground. She blocked her ears to the last conversation between her parents and the Jedi, blocked her ears to the last muted baby sounds she would hear from the bundle in Kyra's arms.

The silence was awful when they were gone, and she cried again, until Mama came to her side, petting her head as she knelt in the warm, fragrant pool of light.

"It isn't fair."

"No."

Her face covered in sticky tears, she looked up at Mama. "Would you have given me up?"

"If I had no better choice. If I thought it was the only way for you to lead a happy life, and have an education and a future."

"I'd never see you again."

Mama wrapped her arms around Mira, and Mira felt the wave of sadness pass through her. Mama hurt even more than she did. "Sometimes they come home," Mama said.

Mira wriggled from her mother's grip, and she ran for the front door.

"Mira, don't!"

Mira knew the locks easily enough, and shoved the door wide. The narrow alleys between houses were plain, dark caverns, but at the end of the road, she saw the landspeeder pulling away. Without thinking, she ran, ran as fast as she'd ever run before, faster even. They would leave. They would speed up.

"Wait!"

The landspeeder slowed and stopped.

Kyra turned her head, and she waited for Mira to reach her.

"Wait," she said again, out of breath, chest still hitching.

Jotinel's hands rested uneasily on the 'speeders controls, but Kyra waited as if she had nowhere to be, nothing to do save pause here to wait for Mira to regain her breath.

"I didn't say goodbye," Mira said. "Please."

"Of course." Kyra carefully opened the 'speeder door. She held the baby out, and Mira took his face in her hands to kiss his head.

"I'm sorry I left your naming day. I'm sorry you're going away."

"Mira," Kyra said, in a voice long used to kindness, "the Force binds us all, and you are strong in the Force. Close your eyes."

Mira did as she was told. "Now," Kyra said. "Think about your brother. I want you to see him inside your mind's eye. Picture him as he is now, and as he will be when he grows. Can you see him?"

In her imagination, a little boy who looked a lot like her, and a bit like Papa, stood before her where the baby still lay in Kyra's outstretched arms. "Yes."

"Whenever you feel lonely or sad, I want you to come back to this place in your mind. You can reach out to your brother with the Force this way. As long as you think about him, neither of you will ever be truly alone."

She opened her eyes. The baby was still there in front of her, but she imagined she could feel a part of him inside her heart. She stroked his head one more time. Without speaking, she made the biggest, loudest wish she could: _When you're bigger and all grown up, come home. Please come home._

Behind her, she heard her parents' hurried steps.

"It's all right," Kyra told them as they approached. "Mira wanted to say goodbye to Caleb."

"Thank you for visiting us," Mira said, the proper words heavy and sad in her mouth. "May your journey be safe, and may your steps find our door again."

"It has been a pleasure," Jotinel said, and Kyra bowed. They returned to the landspeeder, and Mira watched them go until they were out of sight. Then she closed her eyes again, touching the place in her heart where she could still feel her brother.

_Come home._

end


End file.
